


What Could Have Been

by AthenaVD



Category: Avengers (Comics), Etc. - Fandom, Marvel (Comics), New Mutants, Thor (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-07-08
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:30:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AthenaVD/pseuds/AthenaVD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of one-shots depicting "what could have been" if superheroes actually got happy endings, or moderately decent ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, all these characters belong to Marvel.

“Stop that,” she growled over the edge of her book. The father and daughter sat in the floor giggling over the simple wind up toy. They hadn’t spoken for the last hour and a half. They had simply sat there sharing glances and stares, and she knew what they were doing.  
“We're just playing.”  
Moira Xavier sat the book down looking at them both. She pulled her glasses off and frowned even further. He didn’t need her visual expressions to tell him she was upset, the pressure building in the back of her mind was enough. She stood tossing the book in the chair and strode over to where they sat. She leaned over never once breaking eye contact with her husband. She reached down and in a swift move picked up the two year old and turned heading into the hall.  
“Bed time!” she declared heading up the stairs. Sighing, Charles picked up the simple frog toy and placed it on mantel. He headed up the stairs behind her but entered into the opposite room as she did. He pulled down the covers and waited patiently until she had put the toddler to bed and entered their room.  
She remained quiet refusing to even look at him. She sat down at her vanity and brushes her dark brunette hair and removed her make up.  
“We’ve got to work this out,” he calmly said walking up behind her to place his hands on her shoulders. He began rubbing and messaging in an attempt to calm her down. She pulled away glaring at him over her shoulder. She stood and turned her back to him.  
“There’s nothing to work out,” she said folding her robe over the chair.  
“Ok. You’re just upset over nothing.”  
“Don’t start that Charlie,” she sighed, “It’s beneath you.”  
“Well what do you want me to do?”  
“I want you to stop!” she snapped. “Just stop! She’s my daughter as much as she is yours!” This was a fight that was long in the making.  
“I can’t just stop! It’s a natural reaction, I’m her father I’m sorry!” he threw he hands up as he faced her from the opposite side of the bed. “I don’t know how this works,” he sighed, “There’s no book on parenting tips for telepaths. Nor on how to handle a telepathic child.” Moira’s eyes went wide as he braced himself for her reaction. She sat up and turned to him.  
“What?” she quietly asked.  
“You knew this was a possibility when you found out your were pregnant,” he held his hands up defensively.  
“I did, but Charlie she’s only two! I thought I had at least 8 more years to prepare for this!” she brushed her hair out of her eyes and bit her lip looking at him. She was trying to hold the tears back, but they fell against her will. “It’s not fair!”  
“Moira,” Charles sighed sliding into bed.  
“No it’s not fair Charlie!” she cried, “I’m her mother. I birthed her and nursed her and I sit here, watching as she goes running to you…she ask for you, she doesn’t want anything to do with me! I’m her mother!”  
He sighed pulling her close. He remained quiet as he rubbed small circles on her back. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could feel their daughter, her thoughts and emotions reaching out for comfort. She could sense something was wrong between them, and soon would start crying. Moira finally quieted down sitting back up and wiping her eyes.  
“I’m sorry,” she sniffled, “I just never realized it would be this hard.”  
“I know, “ Charles said. “And I never realized she’d be displaying powers this early. I really can’t help it. I assume it’s a natural parenting instinct. When she reaches out I answer. And it’s difficult because she doesn’t know what she’s doing nor is she old enough to have any understanding of her actions. We are in uncharted territory I’m afraid.” Moira pulled a handkerchief from the bed stand and laughed.  
“We’ll have to home school her,” she smiled, “She’ll have her teachers passing her in everything.”  
“We’ll have to find a nanny impervious to any mindreading. We’ll go off on a business trip and come home to cookies and ice cream every night for dinner,” he smiled brushing a strand out of his wife’s eyes.  
“At least we’ll never have to worry about her getting into trouble, she’ll be able to convince the police nothing ever happened…” she sat back against the head board and sighed, “We’ve really done it haven’t we?”  
“One step at a time,” Charles nodded. “Maybe there is something or someone who can give us advice.”  
They became quiet as they sat there in the bed holding onto one another. Moira leaned in and place her head on her husband’s chest as he tightened his grip on her. The steady beating of his heart calming her and reminding her that she loved him, and that she had chosen this life.  
“Can you feel her?” she asked looking up at him.  
“Yes,” he quietly answered.  
“What she doing?”  
“Waiting. She knows we’ve had a quarrel; she’s waiting to see if we calm down. However she’s upset and one of us will have to go comfort her.” Moira sat up and patted his arm.  
“Go,” she motioned, “Go comfort her before this turns into a tantrum.”  
Eyeing her over, Charles quietly nodded as he shuffled out of bed. Moira turned out the light and snuggled into their bed, her heart heavy with fear she would never have the close relationship with her daughter as her telepathic husband. They could try for another baby, but there was a chance it too would be a mind reader. She sighed staring out the window into the night sky. They both were experts on genetics; she could alter the DNA so that the child wouldn’t be a mutant. But what life would that be, to be deprived the opportunity to bear such extraordinary gifts? Charles would argue the ethics of it anyway.  
She sensed her husband return to the room. She snuggled in a little closer, shutting her eyes tight. A weight landed on the bed and waited for his warmth to embrace her, for him to pull her tight like he did every night. But what she felt was not his weight on the bed, but something lighter.  
“Mama,” came the small cry from the tiny voice. “Mama.” Sitting up she rolled over to see her daughter starting up at her.  
“Honey what are you doing?” She pulled her close as the little girl grabbed the corner of a blanket and pulled it to her mouth to chew on.  
“No reason we can’t let her sleep with us for one night,” Charles smiled crawling into bed. “Just because I’m a telepath doesn’t mean I’m the only one who can comfort her. I think it’s a habit we should break. Split this 50/50.”  
Moira smiled at him and hugged her toddler close.  
“Alright,” she softly said. “Let’s get you back to sleep.”  
She softly began humming as she lay down in the bed; her daughter snuggled in tightly between them. She smiled listening to the their breaths fall into a steady rhythm that in turn lulled her to sleep. It wouldn’t be easy, but she wouldn’t ask for anything else.


	2. Chapter 2 Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We take a look at Magneto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize, I had this first part written and that thing happened called life. Things have been a little crazy for my. Because of that I want to go ahead and post this first part of Magneto's story. I'll be working to get the second part out ASAP. Thank you all for reading! And then as always I don't own anything. Marvel does.

“You may go now,” the teacher flatly stated without looking up from her paper, “And I hope you learned a lesson.”   
Placing the piece of chalk down in the tray, the young boy nodded and quickly grabbed his bag and dashing for the front door of the schoolhouse. Once outside he leaned against the door and sighed. It was getting dark at the snow was lightly falling. His mother and father were probably worried. No, he thought, they wouldn’t be worried they’d be upset. Surely upon arriving home his sisters had tattled on him.   
Pulling as bag over his shoulder he started down the steps but stopped suddenly, seeing the silhouette of a man sitting on the bottom the puffs of smoke from his pipe dancing into the winter’s night sky.   
“So,” came the deep voice, “Did you learn you lesson?” The boy sighed as he descended the stairs. The man looked over his shoulder to watch his son solemnly approach.   
“Yes papa,” he quietly answered.   
“So tell me Pietro, what was the answer that you had to learn?” he raised an eyebrow as patted the stoop for his son to join him. Pietro sat down and remained silent starring at his feet. “Your sisters wouldn’t answer me when I asked what happened. They merely said you had gotten in to trouble. Good thing your mother was at the market. She’d be very upset if she knew you were still here.”   
At this comment the boy looked up at his father.   
“Mama doesn’t know?”   
“No, mama doesn’t know. Not yet. So tell me, what happened?” He took a long draw on his pipe as he looked down at his son. The boy squirmed where he sat before a single tear slid down his cheek.   
“They made fun of me. Said that I was an old man with white hair and that…that we were nothing but filthy gypsies.” The man winced at his words before that cold glare came over him, his posture becoming rigid.   
“And what did you?” he coolly asked.   
“I hit one of them,” Pietro answered, “And his nose bled. And the teacher got angry and I had to say after school.” His father nodded and rose from the place he’d sat.   
Behind them the school door opened, and the teacher emerged bundled in her large wool coat. Seeing them at the bottom of the stairs she straightened, eye them through the glass that perched on the end of her nose.   
“Mr. Eisenhardt,” she frowned. “I see you’ve come to pick Pietro up. I do hope he’s told you what happened and you will see to disciplining him properly.”   
“Mrs. Spitznogle, I implore you call me Max. Shall I carry your bags home, or shall I have my son do that. Perhaps it will serve him a good lesson to assist you.” He glanced down at his son who stared at the ground in shame. The woman remained at the top of the stairs.   
“No thank you, MISTER Eisenhardt. I must implore you take care of your son. We can’t have him going around and assaulting the other children.” Max nodded in agreement as he stepped out of the way so she could pass by. Very crudely and with the utmost caution she stepped down each step, and at the bottom she nodded. “Good night,” she said heading down the road.   
“Tell me,” Max called out, “Pietro failed to mention the nature of the fight. What were the boys fighting about?” She stopped, back kept to him. After a moment she turned. “Do you know what they were fighting about?”   
“Your son’s appearance. Children will be children Mr. Eisenhardt, but hitting another peer is unacceptable.”   
“But calling Pietro a filthy gypsy is?” he raised an eyebrow at her.   
“I was not witness to any remarks ther---“   
“Was my wife not the woman we kept you from dying of the illness that swept through the village?” he angrily snapped, “Was she not the woman who eased the pain and suffering of your dying husband? Have we not been good citizens and members of this community? This past summer I fixed the roofing on your house with no charge to you. And it’s all right for my son to be called a filthy gypsy? I can only imagine the vulgar things that they say to my daughters!” Pietro had moved to stand behind his father, almost cowering from the frightening anger in his voice. Standing as though unfazed by his rising voice Mrs. Spietznogle remained starring at him blankly.   
“I did not witness an remarks,” she reiterated and clutched her bag tighter.   
“Just like a German sympathizer,” he calmly said. “What would your husband say?” She turned away quickly, giving once last glance as she continued on her way on the old worn path. “I will discipline my son,” Max called after her, “But I will not punish him for defending himself against bigots!” The teacher said nothing as she trudged on down the beaten path, leaving the father and son standing in front of the school in the dark.


	3. Chapter 2 Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once again I owe nothing. Thanks for reading, the reviews and the kudos! I'd like to note if you'd like to see any "What could've" I'd love to take you're request. I'm fairly well versed in the marvel universe and with a majority of the characters. So if there's something you'd like to see, just leave me a note in the comments. Thanks for reading!

She was standing in the door, hands on hips with a pout on her deep red lips. Her beautiful face was contoured with her brow drawn into a furrow and her eyes glaring with frustration. Pretending to drop his son’s backpack, Max leaned in close to his son to pick it up.

“No matter what she’s says just agree with me and go straight to the kitchen and eat your supper,” he hushed and patted him on the back. Pietro nodded as he took his bag from his father and hurried inside.

“Hello Mama,” he smiled before attempting to brush past her.

“Oh no,” She said grabbing the back of his coat, “Come here.” Shooting a glance at his father he turned to stand before his mother, eyes settling on her shoes. “Where were you two?”

“The neighbor asked for some help, I took our him to help. He’s going to be man someday and generosity and charity is important. It’s a staple in the Jewish community.”

“And what does your Jewish community say about lying?” Magda raised an eyebrow. Max sighed taking his hat off.

“The same thing your Catholic community says, the same thing that the orthodox say and the same as Islam. You’re upset and you accuse me of lying? I was only helping the neighbors. Pietro go eat.” Pietro nodded as he dashed off to the kitchen.

“I should believe you and that you are telling the truth?”

“Why I don’t see why you wouldn’t.”

“Because Anya said Pietro hit another student and was in detention. Wanda agreed with her story. You’re saying both of my daughters are lying to me?” She raised her voice as the girls peered out from their bedroom. Remaining silent Max placed his hat back on his head. He turned and headed back out the door.

“Mama it isn’t—“ Pietro began.

“—Eat your supper,” his mother snapped has she grabbed her shawl and followed her husband outside.

His footsteps were fresh in the snow, leading around the back of their house. She could hear the furious sound of the ax breaking apart the logs for the fire.  Magda slowly emerged from the corner of the house. She stood there for a moment before she cleared her throat. Max said nothing but continued away at the wood.

“You going to tell me what happened?” she quietly asked.

“Pietro got into a fight at school,” he coolly stated.

“What happened?” she pressed.

“I handled it,” he answered.

“Max.”

“Magda,” he lodged the ax into a large block of wood and turned. “What? What do you want? I’ve given you a house, a family, anything you could ever ask for. We’re raising the children under your Romani heritage. Please, tell me what else you want!” he yelled. She stood there starring at him.

“The truth,” she quietly asked. Shaking in anger the ax went flying through the air as Max caught it in his hand. Magda shivered with a mix of cold and fright. She disliked the odd things her husband could do. They reminded her of stories of demons and magic from her childhood.

“Another student called our son a slur,” he turned back to his woodpile and began hacking again.

“A slur?” she asked. “What kind of slur?”

“Magda,” he hissed, “A slur. It doesn’t matter what the slur was, it was a damn slur! It’s bad no matter which one is used!”

“I need to know!” she stomped her foot in the snow. “Tell me!” she hounded.

“A FILTHY GYPSY!” he snapped. She gasped as he dropped the ax in the snow. They were quiet for what seemed liked forever. He starring off into the woods, she was starring at him. Neither noticed the small eyes watching them from the window.

“Do you think I’m a filthy gypsy?” she asked biting back her tears. He sighed in annoyance as he turned to her.

“You know I don’t think that,” he growled. “I think you would be happy if you were free to travel like you did before.”

“You hate me,” she choked, “You hate me because I’m a gypsy and because our children aren’t Jewish.”

“Magda you know that isn’t true,” he sighed rubbing his temples, “You’re unhappy, I’m unhappy, I can’t make you happy, and I’m angry.”

“Angry at me?” she cried wiping her nose.

“Damn it woman!” he barked marching to where she stood,” How many times to I have to tell you, you aren’t the problem! Look, look at all this,” he motioned to what was around them. “I’ve worked hard for this. I’ve shed blood for this three-bedroom house. The I built! For this small piece of land! I’ve worked to protect my children from the hate we both endured growing up. And I can’t. It’s once again seeped back into my life. They call us filth and swine and we’ve given so much to this community. And I can’t even protect my family from verbal assults!” They were both quiet again.

“Let’s leave,” Magda sniffled. “Let’s go south.”

“Where would we go?” He asked.

“To my family’s place. Wundegore.”

“You want to go to Wundegore? In the middle of winter? With three children?” he asked.

“In the summer. You know Klaus wanted to buy the house. And you’re an educated man, you can easily find work there….” She trailed off as she moved closer to him. Hugging him closely she smiled up at him,”…maybe we could have another baby?” He burst into a smile and laughed.

“We could do that right now you know.”

“But I wish for it to be born in my homeland,” the pout returned.

“Would it be a boy? You woman are already out numbering us, Pietro and myself can deal with another tea party.” Magda laughed as she wiped her face off. “Come on, lets get you inside,” He grabbed her under her knees and hoisted her into the air. She laughed remembering their wedding night as he cared her around the house.

He sat her down once in the front door. She shook off her shawl and the hem of her dress. Max pulled his boots off and removed his heavy coat. In the kitchen the children watched as their father smiled and pulled their mother into an embrace before leaning in and kissing her.

“EWWWWWW,” erupted from the kitchen as Max pulled away and laughed.

“And you tease me with the promise of another,” he chuckled.

“Who said it was for you?” she smiled back. “Children!” she quickly turned on her heel and pulled away from her husband, “Where’s Papa’s dinner?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note, I'm not to familiar with Judaism or the Romani culture. There for something were googled and wiki'd. Sorry for the inconvenience or offense if any information is incorrect. 
> 
> I would like to note I hope you find this chapter satisfactory. I'm several social media and fan sites and I know that there's the constant debate over Romani vs Jewishness when it comes to the Maximoff's, and thus thought that would be a great piece of tension when raising their children. I know there's a few issues of XMen where Kitty Pryde and Magneto discuss being jewish, and felt there would be a part of him that's sad if his children didn't know something of his beliefs and culture.


End file.
